


Useless

by panchostokes (badwolfrun)



Series: Prompt Fics [95]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Angst, Gen, Nick has a temper tantrum, Post Grave Danger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:07:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25972618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfrun/pseuds/panchostokes
Summary: Nick reflects on the circumstances that made him chose to leave his home, and recognizes the same treatment in his new one.
Series: Prompt Fics [95]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540795
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Useless

**Author's Note:**

> prompted by an anon on tumblr

There are more than a few reasons he made the decision to leave the lone star state, his homestead, his _family._

If he was being honest, he’s wanted to leave since he was nine years old.

Being the youngest of seven meant that he would get a certain level of attention and a level of lenience that oh, he ate up every chance he could but after a while even the sweetest fruits turn sour and he wanted something different.

He didn’t want to be coddled for being so young. Naive. Innocent. He was none of those things, nobody would know but he had aged far beyond his years, far before any child should. He may have his moments but he had a level of intelligence and intuition that all his teachers had seen and encouraged to the point where had he not desired the extra attention, he could have enrolled in honors programs...but his parents brag about him enough already, and it’s not even until his first year as a police officer that he realizes that he longed for a setting that would make more use of his academic aptitude, the field of forensic investigation.

His mind is innocent enough, sure, his heart somehow retaining a sense of purity and well meaning when he has every reason not to...but that’s not to say he doesn’t have those demons on his tail, doesn’t have those dark, intrusive and impure thoughts.

The difference between him and _them,_ he supposes, is that he doesn’t act on those impulses.

He didn’t want to keep living in his family’s shadow. His father a judge, his mother a renowned lawyer, all of his siblings rising through the ranks of the family business, the Stokes’ practically owned the justice system at this point. 

He knew they didn’t _really_ mind that he went down a different path, opting for the role of the unseen hands that filled the scale rather than being a voice of the blind lady that judged it, but there was certainly an expectation associated with his name that he was worried that he wouldn’t live up to. 

He wouldn’t know that he never had to worry, not really. He far exceeded those expectations. Even set some new ones by just being himself.

And maybe that was part of it too--wanting to create a legacy for himself, _Nick Stokes._ Not just one of The Stokes Sons, but a man all on his own, sowing seeds in a tainted field that nobody could see the damage of but himself. 

So he moved to Vegas, the city of chance, hoping that the odds would be in his favor and he would be able to come into his own, _on his own,_ and prove that he was more than just “another Stokes kid.” 

And for a while, it worked. 

He introduced himself and nobody seemed to be shocked. Nobody seemed to bend over backwards to impress him or please him. Nobody seemed afraid to be blunt and call him out on his bullshit--which he comes to understand about himself, as the years go on, lots of internalized ignorance and prejudice that he now has a better environment to grow out of.

If anything, he was the one striving for that validation out of others for once in his life. 

And it’s less of a strive, more of a _struggle._

He had been promoted to level three before his best friend--and hell, he had started _before_ him, the true. He had worked so many cases, shown his ability to play with others and work independently. Had met expectations and in some cases exceeded them with his thoroughness in his reports and high attention to detail. 

But for whatever reason, he was being held back from working on his own entirely. Always had a partner signing next to his on the dotted line. Always had someone watching his back. Always had a hand on his shoulder stopping him from taking the leaps that in his heart, _knew_ he could jump and land on his feet. 

He confronted his boss about it, after months of repressed frustrations, and finally got a direction out of it. Finally saw what he had to stop worrying about, and that was worrying about _what everyone else thinks._

Even Grissom.

And years later, _finally,_ he was able to. He stood up for himself and stood up against that part of himself that strived for others’ validation. 

_“I’m not you.”_

He thought it was the final roadblock, thought it was smooth sailing from there on out. Greg joined the team and suddenly _he_ was the baby of the group with something to prove. 

Then he got abducted, and when he was pulled out of his premature grave, it was like a reset button had been pushed on his life, and he was back at the start. Back under watchful eyes and on a leash.

And on some level he knew that it was just a safety precaution, as bad things did seem to happen when he was on his own--and this was the third occurrence. If you can repeat it three times, the result is validated.

But that doesn’t mean he had to be happy about it.

And more than that, it’s like everyone was just waiting for him to snap. Have a breakdown. And maybe they were just selfishly wanting to be around for it with a bucket of popcorn, or maybe they were there to pick up the pieces but that’s not what really upset him about it. 

What was really getting under his skin was that they saw, firsthand, how he was treated by his family when the whole damn tree came and infiltrated the hospital after his abduction. They saw how he somehow lost even more control than was already taken from him. Effectively put in another box, this time not buried in the earth but held high on some sort of righteous pedestal in the guise of love, but in reality it was just boasting, “look at our son, he survived the unimaginable!”

They saw all of that, saw Nick’s frustrations, even saw him lose his temper which he had _never_ dared to let boil over before, especially not in front of his mother, and more importantly, his father. They saw him put his foot down as they talked about him, _in front of him,_ making decisions to “bring him home.” They saw him break his own parents’ heart by telling them that the ranch back in Texas has _never_ been his home. 

They saw his hurt first hand, and yet just put him in another box under watchful eyes. 

And he _hates_ being watched.

He apologized, of course, to his family. Both families. Blood and work. He jumped through the hoops, went through the therapies, worked his first week back in the lab doing paperwork before he was cleared to go back to the field. He trod the waters unknowingly swimming under a glass ceiling that was going to shatter down into the pool because he didn’t swim fast enough. 

Or maybe, because he jumped into the deep end too quick. 

Either way, there was a tug at his heart that told him, it wasn’t _actually_ his fault. 

It was _theirs._

They were all sitting in the break room around a table littered with takeout and papers and crime scene photos that they’ve become so desensitized to, they’ve been able to look at and _still_ stomach down the greasiest food Vegas has to offer. Coffee cups and splatters and stains decorate the charcuterie board of a triple shift investigation. 

Everyone was on edge.

Everyone was just plain _tired,_ no eloquent way to fluff it.

Though Nick was starting to grow used to the lack of sleep, himself. He only ever manages to get an hour, if he’s lucky, before sleep acts as a gateway into a realm of nightmares that are worse than the ordeal itself. 

He would still admit that the lack of proper rest only added to his irritation when Warrick and Sara, still running on fumes from the rush of chasing a lead, decided to take the lead in tasking out the next steps. 

And not only that, he already felt useless enough, having given little to no support on his behalf in this long investigation. He felt like he was nothing more than a level one probie taking notes and carrying the baggage of evidence rather than the astute level three mind trying to piece the puzzle together.

He just wanted to do more. Help more. Be his hard working self again. Not holding everyone back.

“Nicky will stay here, he can go harass the techs to get our results faster,” Warrick chuckled, covering up his command with a crude joke, but Nick’s mouth dropped open with astonishment that he was to be left behind.

“Oh, well I was thinking of taking...him with me to go check out the graveyard?” Sara interrupted as Warrick rose with an air of finality. 

“He’d be safer here,” Warrick shook his head, putting a hand to put a stop to Sara’s suggestion.

“And _he_ doesn’t appreciate y’all sitting there giving me no say in the matter,” Nick growled, balling up his sandwich wrapper and tossing it in front of him. 

They continued to ignore him, and he got a sense of deja vu, when his teenaged siblings would discuss what he would do while they went off and did something more fun and “grown up.” 

“What, do you think he’s gonna fall in? Warrick, I need the extra set of eyes--”

“Take Sanders then!”

“Greggy’s coming with me,” Catherine chimed in, rising from her seat and walking behind Nick. She ran her hand through the top of his head, scratched his scalp gently. “Nick will be _fine.”_

“He could help Archie sort through all the security footage, might go faster,” Warrick countered.

“Or he could come with me and help me process fifty square feet of potential evidence.”

“You wanna flip another coin about it?” Nick sneered.

This time, Warrick didn’t ignore him. 

“What the hell did you just say?” 

Sara did a double take, looking at Nick, leaning back casually in the break room chair with a deadpan expression and a malicious fire in his eyes and then back at Warrick, standing tall and fuming with a fire in his eyes and a roar just itching to get past his lips. She moved herself between the two men, putting a hand to Warrick’s chest while Catherine also took note and put her hands on Nick’s shoulders, keeping him in the chair.

“Alright, alright, let’s just...calm down. We’re tired--”

“That’s big, coming from you,” Nick jabbed, and Sara shifted to the offensive-defense.

“What is _wrong_ with you? Grissom--” Sara gaped, shaking her head in disbelief as she looked to the silent observer of it all, who had seemingly not listened to any of the dialogue and was working on a crossword. 

“Yeah, boss, are you seeing this?” Nick gestured a pointed finger at Warrick and Sara. 

The elder man continued to look at his puzzle, jotting down letters and words and it wasn’t for a long, hard minute that he broke the tense silence with three words that triggered an explosion.

“Nick’s staying here.”

Warrick’s lips spread from a thin puck to a gentle smile, Sara spun around, nodding her head and Catherine pat Nick with a feign of support on his shoulders. They all started to leave, but Nick caught them by their tails before they left entirely.

“I can’t believe this! Y’all are acting like the second I go off on my own, I’m gonna get taken again--”

“No, Nicky, that’s not--” Warrick scoffed.

“You’re a big boy, Nick, we know you can take care of yourself, we know that,” Catherine tried to wave off.

“Then why are you all carting me around, telling me where to go, what to do, keeping me on the bench when you _know_ I’m more of a use out there, on the field--”

“Yeah, he’s right. Nick will come with me,” Sara reaffirmed.

“So you can keep your eyes on me the whole time? I don’t need a friggin’ babysitter!” 

“Nick, maybe you should just go home, get some sleep--” Catherine started, looking to Grissom with bugging eyes, but Grissom had leaned forward, folded his hands, seemingly eager to listen to Nick’s meltdown.

“Ever since I came back, it’s like y’all are just waiting for me to explode, is that what you wanted? For me to snap? Say I’m not okay--because I’m not. You think _you’re_ tired? I haven’t fucking slept since they put me out in the hospital! Every time I close my eyes, I’m thrown back into hell, suffocating and starving and being picked apart like a fuckin’ drumstick--”

His breathing intensified, as he felt the crawling of a hundred--although hell, it felt more like a million--tiny legs stampeding his skin, he could feel giant swollen bumps bubble and sizzle on his neck, his arms, his face, his legs. 

He let out a shuddering exhale.

“I know...I _know_ things aren’t gonna be the same again. That...that _I’m_ not gonna be the same again. There’s a part of me that was left in that damn box and laid to rest for good. But I’m just askin’ that we at least...Can we just even _pretend_ that this didn’t happen? That I can go back to being the CSI y’all know I am, and help solve this case?”

“Nick…” Grissom addressed the furious Texan, outstretching a hand and putting it on the shaking fist balled up on the table. Nick continued to seethe but gave Grissom his attention, silently pleading for _some_ sort of wingman in this three against one struggle.

But Grissom had no other comfort to give him. Just three more words to add to the pile that was bringing Nick back down to the center of the earth.

“You’re not ready.”

“Un-fucking-believeable!” Nick spat, before he got up and stormed out of the room.

He brushed up against Greg on his way to the locker room. He got the message, he was being kicked off the case. Sent home. 

Grounded.

“Where’s the fire, man?” Greg tried to joke, but his laugh was coated in nervousness, sensing Nick’s anger. He followed Nick to the locker room, detouring from his target of the break room.

“I’m sick of being coddled like this,” Nick scoffed. He leaned one hand against the locker for leverage as he quickly spun for his combination, tripping over it a few times in his haste. “I’m not a fucking child.”

“I’m sure they mean well, they know you’re not the baby of the team anymore, I am!” Greg tried to cheer him up.

Nick laughed coldly as he changed out of work clothes, balling them up and tossing them to the floor of his locker. 

“But...given everything that happened...And given how you seem to have a knack for trouble...Maybe a little helicopter parenting is you know...fine for now--”

He punched the door to his locker, effectively scaring away the one friend he had left. 

He’ll admit it. _That_ was his fault.


End file.
